


The Rivalry of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter

by Pseudonymous_Entity



Series: Morally Ambiguous [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore thinks he always knows best, Behavior Modification, Blood Brothers, Blood Rituals, Bullying, Competition, Complex Relationship, Dark!Draco, Death Eater Professor, Dubious Consent, Dumbledore crosses a line, Easily swayed public opinion, Emotional Manpulation, F/M, Flirty!Draco, Gen, Good versus Bad Debates, Gray!Harry, Gryffindors are cowards sometimes, Hufflepuffs can be clever, Hurt!Ron - Freeform, IcePrince!Draco, Illegal Potion Making, Involuntary Rituals, Isolation, Jealous!Ron, M/M, Magical Creatures, Magical Crime, Magical Experimentation, Mind Control, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Conflicted, Night Class Students, Not-a-friendship-but-not-enemies, Observant!Draco - Freeform, Ravenclaws can be lazy, Rebellion, Rivalry, Ron and Harry have Epic Fights, Rumors, Slavery, Slytherins can be brave, Spellcrafter!Harry, Teenage Cruelty, The Astronomy Tower Balcony, Vampires, Violent!Ron, hurt!harry, manipulative!draco, physical violence, political debate, possessive!Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudonymous_Entity/pseuds/Pseudonymous_Entity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rivalry. Noun. Plural: rivalries. Competition for the same objective or for superiority in the same field. Synonyms: opposition, antagonism, jealousy. When Draco and Harry are partnered for a potions project they start experimenting on their fellow students and discover a new aspect to their rivalry. Spellcrafter!Harry. Gray!Harry. Dark!Draco. Manipulative!Draco. Morally ambiguous magical experimentation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's complicated

Draco Malfoy's entire world revolved around knowing things other people didn't. It gave him security nothing else could quite match. He knew who was speaking with whom, he knew who did best or worst at which subjects. He knew family lines, blood status, betrothal contracts, sometimes he even knew things before the involved parties knew it themselves. This is what made him a contender in Slytherin, but not what made him dangerous. He was the Prince and future King of Slytherin because he saw the things everyone else missed. Draco saw saw weaknesses. He saw slips in masks, he memorized hand gestures and habits and he saw when people had something to hide. It was these two skills together that made him the undisputed prodigy in Slytherin, for there was only one other person in it's history that was named Prince in first year, and only two others that held the Prince title with no rivals in their third year. His father was one of them.

The Dark Lord was the other.

He was a Legacy. A cold, marble icon walking among boot licking lower families who clamored over one another to earn his favor. He disliked them all. But that was neither here nor there. Draco was a Slytherin, he wasn't here for friends. He was there for connections. And the sort of person he was could hardly afford friends anyway. He had rivals outside of Slytherin though. Two. Potter and the Weasel. Weasel was more of a ginger haired nuisance who was unfortunately turning out to be rather broad shouldered and strong. A dangerous nuisance physically, in comparison to Draco's own, sleek form. Then there was Potter. His favorite past time. His hobby. His future archenemy if the rumours were true, and it'd be nice if they were. He certainly wouldn't mind becoming the next Dark Lord and facing off against Potter as the new Light Lord. Would be fitting, actually. Because there was no one else in this school who could give either of them a run for their money the way the other could. Sure Nott and Granger were the top of their classes. But regurgitating facts hardly counted as intelligence, and being a bookworm was nothing compared to skill.

And Potter was skilled.

Sometimes it took all of his self control not to grin maniacally, which was inappropriate when one wasn't planning world domination, every time the messy haired boy was called on to demonstrate a spell in class. The air became static and it smelled like a forest fire afterward, such was his raw power. It was fantastic.

Draco watched in carefully hidden interest the crimson clad object of his thoughts wander into the potions classroom with the bushy haired know-it-all at his side. The Gryffindor pulled back his chair, tossed his bag underneath it carelessly and sprawled in his seat in a graceful way only wild animals could obtain. Granger leaned in to tell him something and Potter raised a hand to cut her off, not interested. She huffed, plopped down in the chair beside him and crossed her arms. He shook his head and said something else that made her smile grudgingly. All that was missing was-

"Harry I wasn't finished!"

The ginger.

Everyone in the class turned to stare at the outburst. Draco covered his mouth with his hand, turned to the side and coughed delicately, hiding the grin dying to break out. It was one of those days. People liked to say that he and Potter were bad when it came to fighting, but honestly, Potter and Weasley were far worse. Maybe because it was personal? Potter never took anything Draco said personally and easily gave as good as he got without whining about the outcome later on. When Potter and Weasely fought though, the whole school moved out of the way to avoid getting hit and, of course, to watch. It may have just been the novelty of seeing inner house politics out in the open, everyone knew most of Gryffindor listened to Harry unless Weasley opened his big mouth. The house would watched them fight and whoever won was who everyone else agreed with, because Potter would always grudgingly stand by Weasley's side if genuinely lost or didn't care enough to keep the fight going. It wasn't like this all of the time, this change came about last year. In second year no one knew what to make of Potter, let alone the Gryffindors, who were disturbingly quick to turn on the boy when he didn't have a viable defense for his actions concerning his snake speaking ability.

Circe knows why it should matter. If he could speak with kittens none of them would have minded, and they certainly wouldn't have shunned him for it, even though that would have been a true magical abnormality and an obvious sign of a Feral whom standard light affiliated magic users, politically light anyway, favoured about as well as they favoured Werewolves or Centaurs. As in, not at all. Obviously a Feral, even if it was a feline-feral that only spoke to kittens, is an agent of evil here to do evil things. Perhaps manipulating the poor innocent kittens to do his bidding in his evil cat army? Such was the mind of the average Gryffindor.

He thoroughly enjoyed watching Potter and the Weasel when they weren't getting on. The tall hot-headed boy would say something undoubtedly stupid, tact was not one of his skills, and Potter would send him spinning into the wall. CRUNCH. Draco practically salivated in those moments. Because the only other time Potter had that look in his eyes, the only other time his power rang out like that, was when he was fighting Draco himself. You could say the Slytherin was addicted to the feeling. That immediate sense of a worthy opponent, of danger and darkness and all the things Potter pretended not to be. But Draco knew the truth.

After all, he saw things other people didn't see.

The flash of red coming through the usually emerald green eyes hidden behind hideous spectacles. The tightening of his jaw and the mostly hidden smirk whenever he and Draco got in a confrontation. The desire to hurt Draco, to duel, to curse. The face of a boy longing for the moments he could be himself. And Draco went out of his way to antagonize him, to get him to the point his true self broke the golden boy mask and the real spirit within came out to play. If there was any justice in this world Potter would have been in Slytherin and they would have ruled the school together. But he could settle for attempting to kill one another. It livened things up a bit either way.

Granger fixed them both with a glare. "This is insane. Make up already. I told you it was a stupid thing to get in an argument over, need I repeat my list of reasons why?"

"First off, you don't even know what it is I'm mad at him about." Said Potter in a bland voice, "Secondly I'd rather you didn't, that is why I ignored you the first time."

Unfortunately Snape arrived and ordered the lot of them to their proper seats. Draco's lips tugged downward just a bit. He gave a silent sigh. Potter would probably forgive the menace before Draco got to see them pummel each other. Pity.

"...will no doubt be a shock to the system. I do not care if you are sick, suffering a brain injury or imprisoned, you will finish the assignment and be prepared for your presentation on time. No exceptions. No, none Mr Weasley, there are many of you I am sure your parents can replace you with a brother if the need arises. Deliberate misinterpretation of the project instructions will result in a zero, loss of points, detention as well a significantly soul searing reduction to your final score at the end of the year. If you do not wish to repeat this miserable year you will take me seriously. If I have to endure an extra year of your presence, you will wish you'd thrown yourself off of the Astronomy tower rather than screw this up. Clear? On the board you can see a list of suggested topics to research in your initial search for a suitable potion to do your presentation on. Do not choose any of them. They are the easy way out and I am forced to present them by the Headmaster, who believes I push you beyond your capabilities. If you are in fact, the age of fourteen or greater and can not yet think for yourself it is my opinion you have more important problems than this assignment. Thus my rule to disregard the list, stands. Those of you interested in pursuing in career dealing with potions or alchemy will do well to pay attention, as there will be, as required, a small invited assembly to witness your presentations. Allow me to remind you that the non-lethal requirement of this project is non-negotiable, and I have a highly developed ability to sense poisons in my drink as well as discover the one who put it there and return your gesture accordingly. I do not wish to speak so highly of myself, it is generally rude, however I assure I will not be caught doing so. You will have access to only the ingredients you are able to procure on your own, this does not mean sneaking into my private stores or the school stores shared by the potions classroom, the healing night class or the medi-wing. Anyone caught will..."

The day brightened considerably several minutes of not-quite-subtle threatening verbiage later, when Snape declared it was a partnered project. In a feeble attempt to thwart what they knew was coming everyone reached out and grabbed hold of their preferred choice for partner. Draco of course did not participate in the tradition of useless optimistic actions, and did not like physical contact. He merely nodded at Zabini over Nott's head, whom was trying desperately to get his attention, Zabini nodded back in agreement. The Nott heir pouted. Draco ignored that as well.

Their stoic professor gave them one minute of hopeful breath holding before dashing it to pieces with a vicious half-smile. "I have already assigned partners for you. As I call you move to sit with your partner, you will be sitting with each other for the next three weeks. Enjoy."

While those around him scowled and groaned and moaned about injustice Draco turned to his right and locked eyes with Potter, who was already looking in his direction. Draco raised a brow, Potter returned the gesture flippantly. Draco crossed his arms and put his feet on the table. Potter copied him. They glared at one another, neither yielding, until Pansy Parkinson unceremoniously dumped Potter out of his chair so she could sit beside Granger.

Potter stood, shot Pansy a look. She smiled sweetly. Potter scowled, grabbed his bag and moved to sit beside Draco. They didn't bother listening to Snape or waiting for confirmation. Whenever they were assigned pairs in any class that Slytherin and Gryffindor held together the professor would always put Draco and Potter together. It was some unwritten rule of cruel and unusual punishment. Pansy, having done the math, sat beside Granger. None of the pureblood boys would work with her and the last time Granger had been paired with Millicent the two got into a physical fight. Tracey was conveniently sick, her older brother no doubt warning her ahead of time, that left Pansy. Tracey would get to do the project alone. Lucky wench.

The chair next to him was pushed back. Draco glanced to the side and grinned at the newly arrived Gryffindor. "Welcome Potter. Have a seat." He said that magnanimously, as was deserving. Anyone should be thrilled to partner with him in potions, it was his best subject.

Potter sat down, the very picture of someone annoyed to all Hell. Apparently he didn't see the opportunity for the blessing it was. "I would have won that one." He grumbled.

"The world will never know." Said Draco, already copying down the instructions from the board.

"The most dangerous non-lethal, legal potions in use today-" Potter read aloud.

"Glad to know those ugly glasses at least do their job."

"-explain your choice and be prepared to defend it."

"Any ideas in that thick head of yours?" He asked, half-listening, eagle feather quill moving along the parchment in practiced perfection.

Potter rested his cheek against his hand and shook his head. "I've sworn to Hermione I won't quarrel with you today."

Draco eyed the other boy through his lashes. "That's...unlikely."

"I'm aware. She's loyal to the idea it can happen so who am I to destroy her unrealistic dreams? Additionally, that insult sucked."

It had. "Its been four years. Embarrass yourself a bit more if you want better insults."

The raven haired boy looked at him with mock sincerity. "I'll get right on that." When he continued staring at him Draco leaned away slightly, not out of genuine fear Potter might try to end him, but because Potter giving anything that amount of his attention seemed to leave the object of his attention worse for the wear after word. Being burnt to ash or stabbed with a sword or nearly eaten by a werewolf. He, very casually, slipped his wand from his sleeve and prepared to body-bind the boy if needed. He had no interest in being involved with any of the boy wonder's mysterious adventures. The journey into the forest first year was more than enough.

"What?" He demanded.

Potter was startled for a moment, Draco could understand after all he was quite good looking, and paused before asking, "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Look perfect all the time."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Is this the part where you tell me you're secretly in love with me? Because the potions classroom is a tad unromantic."

"That isn't what I meant!" Potter exclaimed, cheeks flushed.

"Alright." Draco said, "What did you mean?"

The smaller boy gestured at him. "You're always so clean. Your fingernails are clean and trim, never stained with ink, and your clothes are clean and creased and I don't think I've ever even seen your tie undone."

He leaned forward and motioned for Potter to come closer. "I'm pure at heart. It repels the dirt."

Potter snorted.

"I take offense to that." Said Draco. "First I'm perfect and now you're making derisive noises in my direction. What am I supposed to think with all of these mixed signals?" In front of them a Gryffindor with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail giggled.

Potter's quill tore his parchment, his face red again. "Are you always this loathsome and annoying Draco?"

"No, sometimes I'm asleep."

"Let's be fair, I bet you manage to be annoying even then."

"But not loathsome?"

"I'm sure you give it your best effort."

He felt his lips pull upward. "Alas, sleep-wickedness is beyond my current capabilities."

"But potions brewing isn't. As such I elect myself for theoretical research and you for the actual brewing process. It's best to play to our strengths!"

Draco turned in his seat. "Using compliments to get yourself out of something? How un-Gryffindor."

"I won't tell if you won't."

"Ah, but I have no desire to do all of the brewing myself therefore-" he raised his hand. Potter tackled him before Snape could see it, hand planted over Draco's mouth. They hit the floor and scrambled to pin the other, Draco still trying to wave his hand and get the professors attention. The Gryffindor octopus made this difficult by somehow being everywhere at once. Draco lifted the smaller boy, who gave a very unmanly squeal he would be teasing him about later, and tossed him to the side, knocking a chair over. Several students looked over at the sound of the crash, seeing it was him and Potter they smirked and went back to their work. His peers' concern was heart warming. Truly. Managing to pin the boy beneath him he punched Potter in the stomach, and sat up grinning in triumph when the smaller boy released him.

He ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his robes, folding his legs under him to survey the damage to their work station. "Are you going to do your share of the work?" he asked.

Potter, still trying to catch his breath, flipped him off.

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

The Gryffindor sat up, panting and rubbing at his stomach. "That hurt."

"You tackled me to the floor."

"Point."

Potter stood and began fixing their workstation. Draco cleared his throat and held out his hand expectantly. Potter scoffed but helped him to his feet. He always did.

"I don't know how you can be so stubborn."

Draco tapped his notes, which had managed to remain exactly where he left them, to make another copy and then he handed it to Potter. He meant it when he said they were doing it together so the raven haired menace better read them. "It's a superpower. I was bitten by a radioactive mule." He deadpanned.

Silence. Draco debated not asking but his curiosity was a vital flaw in his genetic makeup. With a resigned sigh he asked, "What now?"

"That's a muggle reference." Said Potter, the-boy-who-lived-to-state-the-obvious.

"I do read you know." Draco paused, "You'd think Granger would stuff a bit of literature down your throat once in a while out of know-it-all ever-loving-book-worm principle."

"...I read."

"If you say so."

Draco felt something nudge his shoulder.

"Stop"

It happened again followed by a whine. "Stop touching me Nott, you're not stealing my topic." Another nudge.

Potter's hand snaked out and caught Nott about the wrist. Draco watched him turned in his seat to stare down the spiky haired Slytherin sitting there.

"Seriously." Said Potter, "Stop touching him." Nott swallowed uncomfortably. Potter held on to the arm, delighting in the fear, and took five minutes to relinquish his hold.

"Noble." Said Draco.

Potter turned narrowed eyes on him, red glinting through the green. "Don't start."

"So, you don't want anyone else touching me? Because you just tackled me to the ground, you remember that don't you?"

"Malfoy."

"A regular knight in shining-"

The bell rang. Everyone began to leave.

A hand on his jumper stopped him. "The next time I see you outside of class I'm throwing something at you." Said Potter. He let him go.

"I'd expect nothing less."


	2. Think Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Harry performs advanced transfiguration, Hermione dissatisfied with their course selection and Malfoy snaps his fingers.

Harry let himself have a moment to glare at the back of Malfoy's head, took a breath, cleared his face, then put his potions book into his bag, swung it over his shoulder and started making his way to his next class.

Generally speaking Harry Potter was very good at not letting things get to him. His whole life bad things had happened and coming into the magical world certain hadn't changed that fact. Smiling and nodding and carrying on as if it were nothing was a survival tactic he'd learned early in life and it continued to help him now. But there were moments when the almost perfectly formed mask he wore would get a crack and a bit of the anger and resentment he shoved into the shallows of his soul would leak through. Luckily, or unluckily, the source of these cracks was usually Malfoy. Lucky because it wasn't someone who would be alarmed by such things, unlucky because Malfoy was just so damned good at making him lose it. At this point whenever they interacted outside of class he could actually hear people taking bets on them, expecting a fight of some sort. And fight they did, they fought like they were born with exactly the needed traits to perfectly piss off the other. Because while no one could get to him like Malfoy he was secure in the knowledge no one could get to Malfoy like he could. Oh there was Ron of course but that was a different sort of hate altogether.

If Harry was in the room Malfoy's spite had eyes only for him. Odd thing to be smug about really.

He went through the motions in each of his classes. Lunch came and he followed the line of hungry, hormonal students to the great hall. Hermione whispered words urging him to speak with Ron. Ron walked ahead of them, turning back to glare at Harry every so often. All of it seemed so distant to him. Sometimes it was like being in a virtual reality theatre, looking at the world through the eyes of his body but unable to connect with any of it. Harry had felt this way to an extent his entire life, but it had become harder and harder to push the feeling away lately. Like a huge rubber band was wrapped around him and he had to force his will against it and hold it back to let the feelings of the world filter in, but his arms were getting tired and the edges of the band kept coming closer.

"It's unacceptable!"

Harry jumped and looked up. They were already at the great hall, in fact they were sitting and food was before him. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, he even had food on his plate and some of it was eaten. Merlin he was out of it. Harry removed the chicken from his plate Hermione had piled on when he was spacing out. He took a napkin and wiped the juices from it off and replaced it with another apple. Harry picked up the half eaten one and took a bite with a satisfying crunch. He'd actually taste this half of it.

"You can always do correspondence courses or take extra classes during the summer at the ministry." Said Padma Patil soothingly. She was sitting with her twin today, tomorrow they'd have their meals at Padma's table. Even when in separate houses twins came as a package deal.

"That isn't the point, I shouldn't have to. Hogwarts is meant to be one of the greatest institutions of magic in the world. How can they take away our access to certain subjects? There was dueling in second year but that was ridiculous the only thing we learned was-"

"Not to make fun of Snape to his face." Muttered Parvati.

"-that Harry is a Parselmouth. What about Alchemy? Or Rituals? Medi-magicks? How can we be expected to take classes to suit our career needs when the classes we might need aren't available? Fourteen is old enough to get an apprenticeship! How can we get an apprenticeship in Wand-crafting if we don't take Transmutation because all we have available is Generalized Transfiguration? Or Specialized Herbology focusing on the wands woods and cores? Or Auratics to learn how they relate to a wizards magic and affinity? Merlin's early works were used for lectures and demonstrations on transmutation until three decades ago when for whatever idiotic reason they decided we were too young to learn it! Now some of them are in the restricted section and the rest are in the bloody archives! What do you think Merlin would do if he were alive today to see this?" The brunette demanded, thumping a fist on the table and causing Harry's half drunken water to slosh.

"I think he'd be too busy clawing at the inside of his coffin to much care about the state of our education." Harry said, dryly. He pulled his wand from his shoe where he'd taken to sticking it and flicked it to clean up the newly made puddle. As always, no one noticed he hadn't said a word. Or if they did they ignored it as one of those 'Harry' things.

"Harry!" Hermione looked positively scandalized.

Padma and Parvati however thought it was funny, turning their heads quickly and laughing. Hermione sent a glare their way.

Harry shot them a wink just to make her angrier. "Relax Hermione it was a joke."

"It is not funny it's...it's disrespectful. It's morbid. It's-"

The raven-haired Gryffindor could actually feel his eyes start to glaze over. Honestly, the girl read Hogwarts a History like her life depended on it but couldn't be bothered to look up the school charter to see that night, evening and weekend classes were available in alternative subjects? How did she think Lupin got through school missing Astronomy one week a month? He took night classes three days a week for the subjects he other wise would miss along with other non-human and semi-non-human students, he wasn't the only Werewolf to come through after all. He knew for a fact Draco was mixed with some sort of something because the Slytherin took the Spellcrafting night class. Of course, the Malfoys were a long line of somethings. It wasn't really mixing unless you counted the fact the Black had Feral blood. That sort of stuff didn't matter to Malfoy's kind of purebloods though, it was only disease carrying creatures like Werewolves or stander Vampires, where the change was forced that they took issue. It was hardly the newly turned werebeast's fault but that conversation had ended badly when a group of Hufflepuffs came upon them 'discussing' it and summoned a teacher for fear of them killing one another. As if the entire school hadn't seen them duel before. Damn Hufflepuffs. Of course it was first years on the second day of school, he was pretty certain that as this point any higher years were nearly immune to their inability to refrain from hexing the other. And anyway now he'd never know if he would have won the argument or not.

"-are you listening Harry? Harry!"

Nope. Maybe he could get Ron to start a physical fight with him in Defense Against the Dark Arts again then she could follow Ron around the rest of the day nagging at him, and Harry could...damn. He still had to set up a time to meet with Malfoy about their potions assignment. Tuning out Hermione entirely, Harry reached around under the table for his bag. The leather strap slid against his hand, cool and soft, he yanked it up, pushing dishes aside and ignoring the stares from his house mates. When he brought out a bit of parchment to scribble a note on it they all relaxed and went back to their meals. He scoffed in his head. Would it be so surprising if he did ever feel the need to study at a meal like a Ravenclaw? He wasn't stupid. Shutting that can of worms away he tapped the note and in a fit of inspiration transformed it into a paper crane as Malfoy had done during their third year. Carefully he picked it up, smiled mischievously and went ahead and glamoured it red and gold. Malfoy would hate that. Harry looked up across his table to the Slytherin one just beyond. As always he and Malfoy sat facing each other.

D

Meet me in the library. After dinner. Today.

Potions Project.

-H

Catching silver eyes he allowed a dark smirk to blossom on his face. Malfoy blinked and raised an eyebrow. The sight of the flying red and gold monstrosity soon caught those silver eyes and the look of horror entering them when they reached the accurate conclusion he was it's intended target was fantastic. Harry covered his mouth tried to look he wasn't experimenting with projectile weapons at the lunch table. With the air of someone very much put upon the Malfoy Heir unfolded the crane and read it, leaning away when Parkinson tried to see it over his shoulder and hexing Nott when the spiky haired Slytherin tried to take it. The Blonde tossed Harry a superior look, snapped his fingers, and a quill was hurriedly placed there by a lower year. Harry snorted. Slytherin Prince indeed.

Malfoy wrote a reply on it, refolded it and sent it back. Harry scowled at the now obnoxiously green and silver crane headed his way. His table mates, finally noticing their interaction, stared at as if it carried the plaques of Egypt with it. Hermione made to snatch it, of course, but his seeker's reflexes were in top form. As always, he thought, far more smug about it then he had any right to be. It was in his head though so he figured he could be smug all he liked. He waved it at her with one hand and waggled a finger. The bookworm scoffed and turned away to eat, a very small smile in place.

H

I didn't know you were aware we had a library, much less knew its location.

I might even die of shock.

Six. Don't be late. I bore easily.

-D

Post. Script.

Find your own signature note sending method you unoriginal thief!

He tilted his head and considered the last part of the message. It came to him, then, out of no where, and it was brilliant. Harry picked up his glass, drank its contents, set in front of him and paused. Glancing through his bangs he quickly surmised that the students remaining at his table were already over the momentary excitement of his potentially cursed paper crane and were once again taking no notice of him. Shrugging he studied the glass and imagined in his mind what he needed it to look like. Glass was easily modifiable, it only took patience and well defined thought in your head of the shape you wanted. He pressed his magic in on the glass, heating it up and working it back and forth to thin the glass and curve it in toward the other side. You had to move you magic quickly and thread it through the object you wanted to alter, glass was easy to do this to, and convince it that it wanted to be what you needed it to be. At least, that's how Harry understood it and it worked for him. Slowly the glass warped, and bent and became a sphere the size of a snitch. Throwing in a few more spells off the top off his head, a locater for the intended target, unbreakable charm and a few others, Harry scritched another note. He pushed on opposite sides to open the sphere, set the note inside, shut it and spelled it silver and gold, complete with delicate transparent wings.

Seamus bumped into his elbow as he stood. Lunch was nearly over, the great hall was beginning to empty. Harry slid his things into his bag and stood, making for the door. He wouldn't be able to get through the crowd to slip it to Malfoy so he figured he may as well make a scene.

"Oi Malfoy!" The blonde turned, his body language defensive. So did everyone else.

"Catch."

And he chucked it at him. Malfoy, being another seeker, grabbed the sphere automatically. He looked down at it then back up at Harry, blankly. Harry mimed opening it. The boy gave him an annoyed glare.

"What are you doing?"

Hermione stood next to him glancing back and forth between him and Malfoy.

"Throwing things at Malfoy." He answered truthfully. "I promised I would."

She blinked in confusion.


	3. Our Powers Combined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Draco snarks, Harry ignores and Ron is confused.

All of the houses had their own sort of hierarchy, their own social structure and system that none of the others were privy to. They could only see the results. Of course, sometimes altercations in moves for power or dominance were, on occasion, witnessed outside of the house but they were rarely known for what they were.

Unless you were a Slytherin.

As the largest collection of children born to the group who called themselves Death Eaters, they took moves of power very seriously. House prejudice aside, one never knew when the information may come in handy, be it tomorrow or years after graduation. But if you really wanted to see power plays and politics...Slytherin was the place to be.

Subtle glances, tones of voice, eye contact, hand gestures. Anything and everything could and did mean something if you were educated in the rhymes and rhythms of such things. The pureblood society at large was an obscenely complex organism rich in customs and traditions centuries old. And the house of the snakes took it to a whole new level. It was code few outside of Slytherin House were ever able to read. Where whom sat and with whom, what they wore, who they walked with or stood beside or in front of or behind. It all mattered. They didn't just act the way they did for fun, all their little quirks, their posture and tilts of the heads and sneers...it was a hidden language in plain sight.

A game of politics, a game of intimidation, a game of kings, and it never ended. In the halls, at dinner, in class or the library, in the common room or in the dorm. It never ended. One's guard, one's mask must always be in place. Prepared for any and all possible attacks. Not the physical sort, but the mental and verbal sort. Slytherin's hardly needed to dirty their hands when cerated tongues laced with poison could cripple their opposition with a word. It was a strategy that annoyed the other houses to no end. The Ravenclaws were generally smart enough to use their pureblood knowledge to get them through any needed conversations with the House of Snakes, whereas the Puffs relied on smiles and politeness to alert the Slytherins of their wish to communicate peacefully. Gryffindors...that was another matter entirely. Perhaps the only house with a social structure equal in its complexity, they were opposites in every way. The two Houses had a struggle for dominance over the other born in the time of the founders, with no discernible victory in sight.

Draco, current head of the green team for the Slytherin versus Gryffindor eternal spat, sat straight-backed just to the right of the center of the Slytherin table. A member of the Slytherin court and indeed technically the second highest ranking snake, it was his place. When Rosier graduate at the end of the Year Draco would be king and delicious a title was that? If it came with a real crown and throne and loyal subject it'd be even better, but being a Malfoy he was pretty much as close to being a King as anyone could be. He knew this of course and he never let anyone forget it. Knowledge was power and in this case, everyone else's knowledge of his father's political power and wealth did him wonders the first year of school. That was the time the older, higher ranking Slytherins did their best to 'inform' the newest snakes that they weren't with mummy and daddy and the servants anymore and were now the bottom of the food chain. Draco couldn't have that, and his father would have killed him if he had allowed it. Noticing the right things about the right people had ensured he survived the first month, noticing other things about other people and trading the information for the favour granted him a peaceful year. That and his offhand comments about his father hearing about whatever might be happening, even if it was stupid. He wouldn't really notify his father about silly little things like detention or whom was teaching, but it served to remind the other Slytherins that, his father being on the Board of Directors for the school, had access to Draco's location at all times should the need arise. Brave as they acted, the older Slytherins had no desire to mess with Lucius Malfoy. As a bonus it pissed off the Gryffindors and annoyed the Hell out of the other houses. Never let it be said Draco didn't have a sense of humour.

He took a bite of his salad and sip of water from his goblet then he allowed his eyes to look directly across to the next table over. In that place, facing him, was Potter. Since the day of their arrival this had been their seating arrangement, regardless of their place at their individual table, they always faced one another. Whether it was out of curiosity, fate, accident or an instinct to keep ones back to the wall and eye on their enemy, Draco wasn't sure. It didn't matter anymore.

He went through the choreography of dinner, nodding in the right places, interjecting a comment when needed, eyes tracking events around his table and the hall, eating, drinking, nodding in an automatic military waltz. Each socialization, each observed interaction, each fact carefully taken and stored in the warehouse of his mind, alphabetically and according to subject with practiced precision for him to peruse and examine when he had more time. As for now he dabbed his face with a napkin, rose from his seat, bid farewell and began his journey to the library. Expensive boots, silenced of course, lead the way through the halls requiring little instruction from their master. Draco had long since memorized the course. Entering the library he took a left until he nearly met the west side wall, then turn right nearly to the back, another right and then a left at the pillar. Straight into a small area with a window seat, small table and Potter. Draco always knew where to find the small Gryffindor and the other boy had long since given up being surprised about it.

Potter knew he was there, Draco knew he did, but he said nothing. Draco didn't know if he was waiting for him to announce his presence or if the page he was staring at going on five minutes was truly that fascinating. The thought Potter might find anything in a book more interesting than talking to him didn't sit well with Draco. He cleared his throat gently, mindful of the devil librarian woman who had the ability to pop out of shadowed corners whenever a loud noise made it's self known.

Terrifying female.

"Potter you requested to meet up about our assignment not a staring at the Gryffindor session."

The boy didn't look up from his book. "I suppose you do enough of that in the great hall anyway."

Draco ignored the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he clenched his jaw before smoothing his features. "I do not know what you do with your spare time Potter, but some of us have other things to do."

"Ah but you see, I'm reading a book about gravity and it's just amazing. I can't seem to put it down. ironic that."

"Potter."

The Gryffindor lowered the book and caught his gaze, red glinting in the green. "Ah there it is. Right there. The glare of death." He gave an innocent smile.

Draco scoffed, pulled out the chair across from him and sat, intent on making a snide remark when they were interrupted.

"Harry look, I know I shouldn't have said that but-" The ginger stopped abruptly, studying Draco with what was most definitely mutual loathing. "What is he doing here?"

Draco tilted his head, face blank. "It's called socializing." Weasely stared.

"Was that too large a word? Should I point him in the direction of the dictionaries?" He mocked whispered.

Potter snorted then tried valiantly to cover it up by coughing. He did not succeed.

"That isn't funny Harry."

"Yes it was." Said Draco. Potter raised his book and hid his face behind it, though the slight shaking of shoulders told Draco he wasn't suddenly checking up the difference of gravity in space versus on the Earth.

"Honestly Harry you can't keep ignoring me." The taller boy said mournfully, giving his best large eyes of doom.

At this Potter straightened, apparently immune, green eyes narrowing. "Yes, actually, I can. Allow me to demonstrate." He turned to Draco. "How was your day?"

Draco raised a brow. Interesting development. "The same as every other day. I think I even used the same Hufflepuff first year as a writing desk as I did yesterday."

"Evil git." Muttered Weasely.

Draco turned to him. After all Potter was ignoring him, not Draco.

"You've caught me. I'm so deliriously full of wickedness I just can't keep it secret any longer. I confess, I enjoy terrorizing muggle villages and burning down their homes. And, sometimes, when I'm feeling really evil-" He paused dramatically, "I read. Or paint."

Potter, who was still pretending only Draco was present flipped through the pages in his book louder than necessary. "Do you know if we have books on Geometry?"

Draco turned to him. "Why, are you planning to use the rather large circumference of Weasley's head versus the small gray matter between his ears in a presentation somewhere on depressing abnormalities? Because I can help with that." He wondered what the world was coming to when a Pureblood and a Halfblood banded together using muggle terminology, correctly, to confuse and insult. It was even sadder if one remembered the ginger's father worked in some department at the Ministry that dealt with muggles.

"Actually I just found the word polygon and it made me think of pirates."

He repressed a smile. "And what do pirates have to do with Geometry, pray tell?"

"Well, I like that it makes me think of pirates, so if I like the shape as well I'm going to make it the symbol of my ship's flag."

"Do you have a ship?" asked Draco, pulling his chair closer to see what he was reading. It was neither a book on gravity nor a book of geometry. It appeared to be a collection of theoretical experiments in progressive magicks. What was more interesting was the purple ink scribbled in every available space in Potter's handwriting. Interesting. He flicked his eyes over the notes.

...using this we can assume all atoms are connected in a similar way and are subject to the same laws. One might wonder if there is a way to manipulate and control this phenomenon to suit ones needs. I believe there is a way and I think it is both easier and more complex than theorized. Standard translocation magicks are limited to pushing ourselves very quickly through a pulled vacuum toward a specific destination. The feeling is uncomfortable, accidents happen far too often and they're not nearly as safe as wizarding transportation had the potential to be...

Very interesting.

"Not yet." said Potter, wistfully.

Weasley, unfortunately, hadn't taken the hint. Though Draco would gladly skip the rest of his planned evening and continue mocking him. He supposed it didn't occur to him that his friend who was upset with him and verbally told him to go away might actually mean it. Idiot Leprechaun wannabe.

The ginger stumbled over the unfamiliar term. "What's a poly...polygon?"

He couldn't resist, it was perfect. "A dead parrot." Said Draco, with a completely straight face.

A half an hour later, after the read head stomped off, Draco and Potter were still whisper-arguing about the same thing.

"I won." Stated Potter.

"No."

"Yes. I totally won."

Draco waved him off. "My taunts were much better, they certainly got to him more than your ignoring."

"No it didn't, and your jokes were only funny because I was ignoring him."

"I resent that in its highest form sir. I do not need you in order to be funny." He was actually sort of offended. Draco could be witty when he had a mind to be!

"I still win. I'm his best friend, it makes more of an impact. He expects it from you."

Silver eyes rolled without shame. "Potter I beat you on the nasty scale no matter how you look at it."

Potter raised his chin in the typical Gryffindor defiance pose.

"You take that back."

"Never." As if.

"I can be just as nasty as you!"

He grinned. "Never going to happen." Draco said, in a sing-song voice.

He ducked a book thrown his way and continued to smile at the Gryffindor, who continued to sulk.

"Let's go find him then. I bet you a galleon I can get him red-faced and spluttering in five minutes or less."

Draco tapped his chin. "Fine. You're on."

They picked up their books, which they never actually opened, Potter swung his disgusting muggle bag around his shoulder while Draco shrunk his books and put them in his pockets. Together they turned and walked out of the library to go find the Weasel. They had to find out tonight who was best at getting the ginger to blow up or they'd never get to sleep. Never mind the project that was the soul reason they were even meeting in the library, never mind that Potter and Weasely were meant to be friends, never mind that it was a bit messed up on both of their parts. It was a matter of principle. One of them had to be the best. One of them had to be the winner and the other the loser.

This was just something else to add to the score card.


	4. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hermione doesn't mind her own business, Harry makes a point, and Malfoy has a proposition.

Harry spent most of Saturday morning in Gryffindor tower, sitting in a seat near the fireplace he'd long since claimed as his, looking through books, some from the library and some his own. As usual unless Ron or Hermione was sat beside him no one approached him. He didn't mind. He got more done without social distraction.

Potions wasn't his favourite subject, Alchemy and Warding were far more interesting, but Hell would freeze before he would allow Malfoy to control a school project that had his name on it too. It was actually an interesting project in a way, choosing what you thought was the most dangerous potion currently available through legal means that was technically, non lethal. You had to choose your potion and then defend your choice to the class. Grades were awarded according not the amount of effort one put into it, but how cleverly they managed to convince the class of their choice. Perhaps this was why Hermione was so upset yesterday, things like public speaking and debating were once part of Hogwarts curriculum to both prepare future Lords and Ladies for their responsibilities in an objective forum, apart from the family specific lessons taught in the home prior to Hogwarts, and to enlighten the muggleborn or muggle raised students in the ways of the wizarding world and help them manage living in it a bit better. Hermione could certainly use an wizarding etiquette class because even he knew better than to do and say some of the things she did, no matter how well meaning they might be intentioned. He couldn't say any of this of course, or she'd never stop angsting to him about her academic dissatisfactions.

Normally he had Ron nearby to say something insensitive and distract her attentions from Harry but that wasn't possible for the moment. Harry might like Ron, they were friends for a very long time, but friendship and affection did not grant ownership and it did not mean Ron was automatically give forgiveness for his transgressions, if anything he ought to be punished harsher than a stranger would be. Friends weren't supposed to be the people who hurt you and Harry had had more than enough people in his life who hurt him for his own good. If he let Ron off the hook so quickly then he was giving him permission to act this way again in the future and that wouldn't do. And, in all honesty, he probably would have forgiven the other boy sooner if he'd been sorry. Oh he was sorry that Harry was mad at him and he was apologizing for making him mad but he wasn't acknowledging that he did anything wrong or why it upset Harry in the first place. And that didn't make it a worthy apology. If you accidentally shot someone because you pointed a gun at them and fired without checking to see if the safety was on, you don't say sorry just because they're upset. You say you're sorry because you damn well shot them.

Maybe he was being too muggle about this, Harry mused. Maybe there was some sort of pureblood, because Ron was a pureblood, ideology or custom he was missing here that could help him understand. He still wouldn't forgive Ron, not yet, but it would be nice to have an actual reason for Ron to be so stupid and unrepentant instead of him just honestly not realizing after four years of knowing one another that saying what he did was not okay. What hurt even more, was that Ron truly meant what he said.

He shifted his position in the chair and flipped the page of his book.

"Unacceptable."

Harry marked his place in the book he was reading and looked up to meet the agitated eyes of Hermione Granger.

"Pardon?" His eye were dull and unemotional, general expression neutral verging on polite interest. The safest expression to wear when dealing with an upset female, Hermione in particular.

She uncrossed her arms and placed them on her hips. "Your behavior with Ronald. What were you thinking Harry? Goading Malfoy into joining you in humiliating him? You can be upset if you like but being needlessly vindictive just to please your petty hurts, especially against you best friend whom I might add was trying to apologize, is despicable. You purposely went out of your way to bully someone. We aren't Slytherin's Harry and we don't get to hurt other people whenever we feel like it, other people have feelings and that matters. He apologized several times so...so quite sulking and forgive him and stop this..." she trailed off and made a vague motion in his direction.

It was a simple, everyday action but when Harry shut his book and set it down, took off his glasses, put them in his pocket and stood up the entire common room went still. He took two steps and stopped directly in front of her. Brown eyes widened and Hermione took an aborted step backward.

Harry raised one finger, speaking in a low, even voice as though discussing the weather. "This is between Ron and myself, we do not request nor do we require an owl intermediary in the form of yourself." He raised another finger. "What Ron said was thoughtless and I am not ready to forgive him for it no matter how much you harp at me about it." He raised a third finger. "I told him not to speak to me. I told him I was upset with him. I told him not to follow me. He ignored what I wanted, focused entirely on his need to earn my forgiveness and didn't spare a thought as to why I was upset in the first place. He's lucky I didn't petrify him on sight and leave him there to Malfoy's mercy. And I was tempted to do so. It is only because he is the first friend I made in the wizarding world, and an inconvenient desire to retain him as such, that I did not."

He tilted his head, face the picture of innocent curiosity. "Questions?"

She shook her head, face pale. He felt the slightest built of guilt that he pushed aside as quickly as it came.

"Excellent."

Harry glanced at his watch, decided he might as well head to the library, picked up his book, put in his bag, turned and gave a bow to the common room at large and swept out of the portrait hole.

A neatly combed head of blonde hair was visible when Harry entered his small study area, relishing in the silence of the library. Silver eyes watched him unpack his things and sit down, immediately open a book and start taking notes.

"What no witty unfounded insult against my character? No idiotic quips about books? I'm a bit offended."

He arranged his face to look apologetic. "I apologize dearest nemesis, next time I shall come better prepared to wound you verbally."

"See that you do."

He looked up when he felt Malfoy continuing to look at him. The blonde gave a smirk then, and in his best impression of Harry himself asked, "How was your day?"

Harry let out a startled laugh. "Yeah, I was a bit desperate to get rid of him."

"Obviously."

"It sucked."

A fair brow rose. "Could you be more specific?"

"It really sucked."

"Your mastery of the English language astounds." Malfoy deadpanned.

"Unfortunately a lot of people miss the subtler art of word plays and sarcasm."

"Tragic that. You wouldn't want to go around lying to people or anything."

Harry started on a second piece of parchment. "Merlin forbid that." He muttered.

"Which potion have you decided on?"

He slide his first sheet over. "Veritaserum."

"I was thinking more along the line of Amortentia. I know it isn't legal to use on another person for its intended purpose but they are legal to make and to buy to be used in medications as a partial sedative effect. It's still available and technically legal."

Harry finished scritching his sentence then set his quill aside and looked up. "Defend."

Draco closed his book and moved it, bringing his chair in closer to the table and laying his arms across it in front of him. "To me, having your emotions trifled with, just in a normal everyday way, sounds horrible. To have a love potion...to have all of these feelings you didn't have before flooding through you and unable to understand where they came from and eventually unable to remember why you shouldn't feel them, to be utterly unable to fight against or indeed even aware there is something to fight against. It's a rose coloured version of the Imperious." He gestured at Harry. "Defend."

"I picked Veritaserum because the truth, to me, is dangerous. In the wrong hands the truth becomes a weapon. The truth contains the secret to controlling anyone. You learn someone's fears, someone's weakness, someone's skeletons and you own them. The things people think but never say can destroy families, reputations and kingdoms."

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, looking very pureblooded and smug about it, and thought for a minute.

"I propose an experiment. We each must try to prove to the other why our chosen potion is the better choice. The winning potion is used for our project and we'll even site the experiment in our essay. Snape will have to give us extra credit if we do that, he may hate you but I'm his godson and he won't deny me if I put in the effort."

"...I'm listening. But if you come anywhere near me with either of those potions I'm going to-"

The Slytherin waved a hand, slight sneer in place. "I'm not about to waste my time humiliating you with a potion that allows you to tell everyone exactly whom did it in a way that's admissible in court."

"I can't tell if that's meant to reassure me or threaten me."

"And anyway, we duel in the halls often enough I could probably manage to kill you off accidentally. Or at least make it look accidental. Everyone knows we fight, they'll tell the aurors that, and you of course entered into the duel willingly. I'm sure I wouldn't get more than a fine for it, maybe have to pay to erect a statue in your honour or some such ridiculous nonsense."

"Comforting."


	5. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Ron loses his temper, Harry shows his darker side, and the Slytherins place their bets.

Every morning the Weasel attempted to speak with Potter at breakfast. Every morning Potter made his displeasure with the other boy known, to the world at large, in creative ways. When it became apparent the ginger wasn't taking the hint it became a spectator sport to the horror of the Hufflepuffs and to the bemused interest of tSlytherins. The Ravenclaws refused to admit they were interested int he outcome, though the high amount of them staring at books without turning pages just before breakfast each day said other wise. The Gryffindors of course were content to pretend nothing was happening.

The first time the even took place Potter stood up and slowly dumped an entire pitcher of juice on the Weasel's head. On another morning he put him in a body bind and hung his cloak over his head like a coat rack. This morning looked to be the best yet.

"How can you be so selfish?" Burst out the Weasel.

Potter, calmly, kept eating his porridge. The students who'd taken to coming to breakfast early to enjoy the show, sat up straighter, eyes locked on the next table over. Waiting. The Slytherins were the only ones watching without shame.

Millicent leaned over the table to Draco and whispered. "Alright before anything else happens, which team am I rooting for?"

"Potter." Said Nott before Draco could answer, a parchment with tallies denoting the two Gryffindors' points in the feud. A rumour Draco could neither confirm nor deny if asked about stated the Slytherin was taking bets from the houses.

Weasley shoved the smaller boy. "I'm talking to you!" Potter's spoon went flying. Everybody froze. Messing with Potter before he had his coffee was just asking for it. With the feral grace Draco loved to see, Potter swung his legs around the bench, stood and face the other boy.

"Go away." His voice was quiet and low, without inflection.

"No. This isn't fair. I've apologized six times and I'm not gonna let you walk around like I have to grovel just because you're Harry fucking Potter. Get over it. So what if it hurt your feelings, it was a joke. You knew I meant it as a joke. And this might be news to you but the world doesn't revolve around you and I don't have to follow you around like a damned dog waiting for your approval." So much angst.

Potter smiled. Oh dear. Nott scribbled on his parchment.

"I'm going to use little words. Just for you." He cleared his throat. "Fuck you."

And the brunette walked around the dumbstruck boy, straight out of the hall without another word.

Unfortunately Draco had to meet up with the small Gryffindor in an enclosed space back in the library with no one around to see him murdered in a fit of displaced rage. Well to hell with that. Seeing Potter put the ginger menace in his place was one thing and while Draco enjoyed dueling with the Gryffindor he wasn't about to be used as target practice while the other boy vented his rage.

To his satisfaction, and most certainly not to his relief, Draco ended up finding the boy wonder balancing on the railing of the seventh floor balcony, staring down a the mini-students occupying the lower levels, all the way down to the entrance hall on the first floor level. Once he was certain the boy wasn't contemplating jumping or some such nonsense he sat beside him and looked with him. Three floors down a sickeningly sweet couple walked beside one another, the boy carrying an armload of books. Silver eyes glanced at the boy next to him. With a mental shrug Draco pointed his wand at the boy. The next girl walking past them on the staircase received the boy's full attention, he actually handed off the books back to his girlfriend and starting following the other girl down the stairs. Potter laughed.

Draco repressed a pleased smile, lifting his chin. "You don't seem too worried about the moral implications of this."

Potter gave an odd sort of shrug. "Don't much care about other people's love lives anyway. If I must know about them they might as well be entertaining."

"Living vicariously through others are we?"

He made a face. "I have no desire to wander around carrying someone else's things while they rattle on about inane subjects I don't care about and then stare at me expectantly for a compliment."

"I don't see how that's any different then walking around with Granger and the Weasel. Just add in some condescending lectures and food."

"Food?"

"The Weasel is always eating. I once saw him take out bacon from a pocket in the middle of Transfiguration and just start munching away. Crumbs over his robes, smearing grease around the desk." He felt an urge to clean himself just thinking about it.

"His eating habits do leave much to be desired." Potter grinned. He froze, cocked his head, nodded to himself, turned to the staircases and waved his wand at a dark haired girl with a ponytail. She tripped into a girl in front of her. The ink bottle in her hands dousing the back of the girls uniform.

Draco tilted his head. "That didn't do much."

The Gryffindor tapped his wand against his chin. Apparently accidentally blasting his jaw off wasn't a fear of his. "Watch."

He waved his wand again and the girl drenched with ink started shouting.

"I can't believe you. You're such a self centered brat. Well you know what, miss popular, Aaron was with me Saturday. He wasn't off getting your birthday present he was with me in the Astronomy tower. That's right so-" She gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth, horrified. Ponytail girl threw herself at her. Both of them rolled on the floor, kicking and screaming.

It was marvelous.

"Dance puppets..." Said Potter in a sing-song voice.

Draco, to his surprise, found himself laughing. "Oh Gods my cheeks hurt."

"You don't laugh often. I suppose they aren't used to the exercise." There. Right there. Now that was Potter. Merlin let the Weasel continue mucking things up.

It was for the betterment of mankind really.

"Oh I do plenty of facial stretching." He informed the Gryffindor, "Like smirking, scowling, sneering..."

"There is that." Potter agreed. They sat in comfortable silence, occasional sidelong glances confirming the other wasn't going to push them off in a fit of sociopathic rage. They hands their wands out just in case. Not that they didn't trust one another or anything.

"How did you know about the Astronomy tower?" He asked after a bit.

"I like to sit on the top of the balcony and contemplate mortality. For some odd reason no one ever sees me when they come up there."

Morbid.

"Ah yes it's their fault for not seeing through your invisibility cloak."

Potter gave a small smile. "That's no excuse. I sit up there talking to myself aloud. Sometimes I hum. What sort of imbecile doesn't find that immediately suspicious? It isn't as if the castle suddenly decided to give them some music to set the mood." Potter leaned over the balcony. "How long does it take for a bunch of teenagers to descend into anarchy?"

Honestly the boy had the attention span of a kneazel. "How long?" He asked, gamely.

"Lets find out." Potter placed his hand over Draco's and directed Draco's wand, muttering a spell. Curious, Draco watched.

He felt a rush of cool energy pushed threw his wand. Barely visible shimmers began decorating the stairs. Ice. Black ice. On every. Single. One. Students were slipping and falling into piles of other students. Smacking into walls, dropping their things. It quickly escalated to people taking their frustrations out on one another.

Draco leaned to the side with a bored expression to avoid a wayward hex. It was complete and utter chaos.

Lovely.

"And now to unite them in a common purpose." Potter cupped his hands to his mouth. "It was Malfoy's wand! I saw it."

The entire group looked up, zeroing in on him. Draco tried to glare a hole through Potter's head. He was unsuccessful.

Potter smiled at him, red glinting through green in his eyes. "It is the truth."

"Piss on you Potter."


	6. You Can't Handle The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Harry schools Hermione and the class takes notes.

Harry sat at his usual place to the right of the classroom, Hermione sitting to the left of him. That spot was normally home to Ron in years past, now Hermione took over that role and Ron had to find a seat wherever one was left. The dark haired Gryffindor couldn't resist flashing the ginger a superior smile at every available opportunity. He knew he was riling the bigger boy and he knew it was childish, he just couldn't find it in him to care. Hermione made disapproving noises in the back of her throat Harry steadily ignored. After that night in the common room she'd keep her opinions to herself. For the most part.

Facing forward Harry brought out a muggle notebook and made a show of opening it to write in it, mostly because he thoroughly enjoyed the looks on the faces of purebloods when he was seen with it. Honestly he thought parchment looked more impressive and it was fun writing on it, but irritating other people was even more fun. Especially if they learned he actually preferred parchment and a fountain pen. Harry chewed the tip of the blatant muggle pen.

After a moment a triangular folded note made it's way to his desk. It was pink. Mentally he rolled his eyes. With a poorly concealed smirk he looked across the room and met silver eyes. Malfoy raised an imperious brow. Harry lifted his note just enough for the blonde to see, waving it. Malfoy gave a returned smirk and lifted one of his own, waving it exaggeratedly.

Harry snorted then mouthed 'How many?'

The blonde raised seven fingers. Harry lifted five. The Slytherin looked outrageously smug.

"Harry?"

He looked to his left.

"Why are you and Malfoy communicating in sign language?"

Harry blinked at his friend. "We're not."

Hermione opened her mouth but he was spared interrogation by the slamming of the door.

"Sit down, books aways, parchment out and listen." Barked Moody.

Something silver and golden nearly hit him in the face. Harry jerked back and caught it. The snitch he made. Harry leaned around Hermione to glare at Malfoy. As expected, he was un-repentant.

Truth or Dare? Mouthed the blonde.

He rolled his eyes. Dare.

Harry waited for the professor to to start writing on the blackboard, then he tossed snitch at Malfoy. The blonde caught it, glanced up at the front of the room, took out a piece of parchment, wrote on it and tossed the snitch back. Harry caught it just as the Professor turned around. He hid it under his desk and froze.

"Today we are going to discuss dark spells versus light spells. What is the difference?"

Parkinson raised her hand. "Miss Parkinson?"

"One is looked down on to practice and the other isn't, but which is which depends on who you ask?" she asked snidely.

Snickers. With all eyes elsewhere Harry looked down and took out the note.

I dare you to speak nothing but the truth until midnight tonight.

Damn. Harry could always pretend he had a sore throat and didn't feel like talking he supposed.

"Two points to Slytherin for appreciated humor. What else? Mr Weasley?"

"Dark magicks are the sort used to hurt other people, what the ministry considers dangerous. Using them is illegal."

"No, and yes. There are light magicks that can be used to hurt someone, magic is not defined is the categories of harmful and not so harmful. One point. Anyone else?"

Hermione raised her hand. "Miss Granger?"

"Dark magic is considered unstable, addicting and potentially harmful by everyone where as light magic is considered to have a useful purpose."

The ex-auror scratched his chin. "You gave me the politically accepted definitions but not the answer I asked for. Someone else?"

Hermione huffed, no doubt outraged by the lack of points earned.

"Mr Potter?"

Double Damn.

"It's isn't any of those things. Dark Magicks are those passed down by followers of Morgan and ancient magicks and practices where as Light Magicks are those techniques passed down by Merlin and his followers. There are also Black Magicks, Gray Magicks, Natural Magicks and more than I have time to list. The difference is whether you follow the ancient traditions, where you honour Mother Magic in your use of her gifts or if you use your magic as a granted tool like you would a sword or a shield, and as nothing more or less than that. As for the modern definitions? All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is generally a function of power rather than truth. You must take popular opinion with a grain of salt. That is to say, listen with an open mind but prepare yourself to analyze the information you are given regardless of the source or the thoughts of other's around you. Each of us is affected by our life  
experiences to a different degree which in turn affects how we tend to colour the information we are given. Generally it is easier to agree with public opinion because your life is easier for it..." He trailed off.

Hermione raised her hand, looking directly at Harry.

"Have you considered that the publicly agreed upon terms of right and wrong best serve the quality of life maintained by the public to be satisfactory?"

Harry didn't bother to raise his hand. "Satisfactory? The world expects you to act and live and be a certain way depending on your supposed opinion. In this case, whether you're declared for Dark, declared for Light, declared Neutral or declared Unaffiliated. While I understand that these restrictions are put into place for reasons I wasn't yet born to hear and see, and I can also admit that most of the world believes them to be put into place for the greater good, I can't help but feel, personally, that no man has the right to dictate what other men should perceive, create or produce and that instead all of us should be encouraged to reveal themselves, their perceptions and emotions and to build confidence in the creative spirit."

Malfoy was leaning forward in his seat, as were several other students. Harry was surprised to see some of them taking notes.

Hermione turned in her chair completely in order to face him. "We have a hard enough time regulating spells and things as it is! Some of these things are harmful and to allow just anyone to create whatever they want whenever they want in the current age is irresponsible. The wrong sort of people could create truly horrible things and without public knowledge of these things or regulations to control their use we have no way of knowing in what way they'll use them."

Harry glanced at the professor.

"Keep going Potter." Moody sat on his desk, arms folded.

"There isn't any way to control it now. Having sketchy laws saying this or that spell isn't allowed anymore isn't going to keep people from doing it. And why not? Why not create spells in the current age? We consider the Golden Age of magicks over because the time when Spellcrafters and Enchanters were a common thing has long since passed. We don't have new spells or charms or illusions created anymore. Only ones that come in and out of fashion to suit the needs of the current ministry and the political climate. Nothing ever really settled. Something thought of highly yesterday is frowned upon today and banned altogether tomorrow and occasionally even lost altogether. I think it's a bit of a disgrace you see. While certain limitations on our behavior is understandable I long for the days when people of differing ideals frequently came together to argue and debate and create."

Hermione frowned. "The fields today with creative progress are Alchemy and Potions, both of which are becoming more and more regulated and observed so we can be certain nothing is harmful and-"

"- and it's being stilted." Harry cut in. "Look at the Wolfsbane Potion. Here is an excellent opportunity to be able to study Werewolves and understand the nature of their disease but the potion it's self isn't technically permitted for sale and where you can get it it's outrageously priced. You'd think the world would want to heal their friends and families or at least protect them from acquiring said disease themselves? There are so many lost opportunities that I admit I have found myself somewhat disappointed. So, no. I don't think the current terms for Dark or Light magicks is at all relevant. They don't even use them the way the terms are meant to be used, most of the students in this classroom don't understand the terminology. Why call this class Defense Against the Dark Arts when we aren't even studying the Dark Arts? The Unforgivables? That isn't Dark Magic at all, if anything it's actually Light Magick because it is manipulated as a tool."

It was very quiet then.

"Twenty-five points to Gryffindor, Mr Potter."


	7. Confrontational

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron instigates, Harry explodes, and Draco lives for the applause.

The story of what happened in Defense spread quickly, even by Hogwarts standards. Reactions were mixed. Some were pleased Granger was shown up, while others were concerned. There was a lot of a talk about possible implications of Potter and Granger's debate. Draco thought the only reasonable implications to take from it were that Potter wasn't as dumb as he acted sometimes and that he was up to date on his wizarding culture. Fitting, considering he was the last Potter and it would fall to him to take over his family's responsibilities when he came of age. The rest of the student population, as often happened, disagreed with his assessment. They thought Potter was 'dark'. If they had bothered to listen to Potter's speech instead of picking random bits of it out they'd realize even if he was that didn't mean he was evil or about to go out and crucio some muggles for sport. The purebloods knew this of course, and as such stayed out of the discussion  
entirely. It was the halfbloods and mudbloods making a commotion about it, and Draco would be more than satisfied if someone silenced the lot of them. They worried, loudly, that the golden boy's words were signs of his wavering allegiance, that he was trying to recruit students to the Dark or that he was purposely trying to embarrass Granger.

Granger herself fell into the last category. The frizzy brunette was an absolute child when it came to academic competition. She hated being bested by anyone, as if her constant binging of reading materials justified her self proclaimed label as the cleverest student in their year. While she was good at remembering the information she had read and then vomiting it back up as requested in an obnoxious effort to showcase her mind, that had very little to do with intelligence. In Draco's opinion. In his house Theo was the resident know-it-all and he'd yet to be ostracized for it because the soft spoken boy did not go out of his way to embarrass his classmates. He didn't hog the Professors' attention for the sole purpose of stroking his ego nor did he automatically assume he knew everything there was to know about a subject just because he'd read a lot of books on it. Knowledge from books and knowledge from experience were different and he accepted, with  
enviable grace, the few corrections that came his way. If Granger wasn't so stuck on her own mental superiority she might have recognized the difference in reception by their classmates and attempted to emulate Theo's more pleasing attitude of the humble bookworm.

It certainly would have cultivated her some popularity for her talents rather than the limited amount she benefited from being one of the only people allowed near Potter.

However, that wasn't a battle to be won in the space between Defense and lunch. Instead the green-eyed Gryffindor walked the halls with his attention straight ahead ignoring the accusing looks, sitting in Charms alone with no visible anxiety and walking to the great hall alone. The whispered rumbles of rumours whirling around him as he passed seemed to flow right over him. Seemed to. They didn't, each and everyone stuck inside that too sensitive head polluting the boy with self doubt and pain. It was there in his eyes.

Draco saw things no one else did.

A very, very small part of him felt a smidgen of regret. It was his dare that put Potter in this position. Then again, if the little golden boy walked around being himself instead of pretending to be somebody else he wouldn't have an issue. Say what you would about Slytherin's but their masks weren't false faces. They were shields. You wouldn't see one of them acting like a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw just because it would make them more popular or because it was more acceptable. Ambitious yes, fake no.

And that was what really bothered him the most.

Potter was being forced to be someone he wasn't and his so called friends and supporters were fake. They liked him when he was what they needed him to be but if he dared, no pun intended, to be himself, to do something or say something that was real...then the whole damn parade stumbled and crashed. And it was because of this that he'd been surprised Potter had not immediately agreed to choosing Amortentia as their project potion. Potter knew better than anyone, except perhaps Uncle Severus, what is was like to be forced to play a part, to smile and nod and be something that you weren't.

Instead the small git chose Veritaserum. In Draco's world the truth was only a problem if you'd done something you shouldn't have and didn't want to be caught. That wasn't the case with Potter, he always did exactly the right thing according to the masses to please them.

He tilted his head and pondered it. Was this what Potter meant when he said the truth was dangerous? The boy hadn't done anything wrong, not really. He hadn't hexed someone or stolen something or tripped a Hufflepuff. The boy had given his honest opinion when asked for it. Wasn't honesty a big deal to Gryffindors? But it wasn't the right truth. Potter didn't get to say things like that, because Potter didn't get to be his own person. He was an idol, a political figure, the symbol for Light triumphing over the supposed evil of Darkness. He didn't get to be a real person because the world didn't want a real person.

Draco looked across the table to the raven haired boy, sitting alone in the middle of the Gryffindor table. Granger had tried to sit beside him of course and Potter in turn pretended she didn't exist. Her tantrum in the hall outside of Defense after class ended probably had something to do with it. Now the boy sat, alone, head down, playing with the food on his plate. His face, when he glanced up now and then, was blank. His eyes were not. Bitter. Hurt. Draco saw emotions playing through them as clear as blood in a glass of water. The Gryffindor's eyes had the same look in their second year during the Heir of Slytherin business.

The only thing missing was uncertainty. That had been a prevalent emotion then.

Draco pushed his salad aside. He didn't know why the look in Potter's eyes was irritating him so much. Pale hands and long finger slipped into his pocket and brought out a stack of parchment, Draco place it on the table and tapped it with his wand to enlarge it.

H

Stop looking at your goblet like you want to drown yourself in it. You're traumatizing the first year Hufflepuffs.

I think one just burst into tears.

-D

He folded it, slid the silver and gold snitch open, set it carefully inside and looked up.

"Oi! Darth Potter!"

Emerald eyes snapped to his face, startled amusement flickering over the once blank face. Potter's tan hand reached out and caught it when Draco threw it at him. Another moment and the snitch flew back his direction. He caught it and flipped it open, pausing only to cast a stinging hex in Theo's direction when the over-curious wizard tried to sneak a peek at the note.

D

Merlin forbid I deprive you of your favorite form of writing desk.

-H

His lips twitched upward. Draco snapped his fingers and held out his hand. Some lower year gave him a quill. He would never get tired of that.

Draco looked up from the note when he felt Theo stand. Lunch was over. He shrunk the rest of the parchment and put it in his pocket, stood and made his way to the doors. Potter was there just slipping through. With a smirk he raised his voice. "Think fast Potter!" The smaller boy turned and just managed to catch the snitch before it was about to slam into his face. The Gryffindor shot him an annoyed glare. Draco mimed opening it.

H

I am pleased to see you understand the gravity of the situation.

Having to chase down second years, who have learned to hide, would be an unnecessary expenditure of calories.

-D

Post Script: Your penmanship offends. Who taught you to use a quill?

Potter's face twitched, a reluctant smile drawing across it. He gave Draco a dramatic eye roll, put the snitch in his pocket and continued out the doors. Spiked brown hair came into his line of vision.

Draco turned to see Theo standing beside him giving him a shrewed look. "What are you doing Drake?"

He thought up and examined different answers to that question. With a slight upward pull of his lips, that was certainly a sneer and not a small smile, he decided on the truth.

"...Throwing things at Potter."

Draco walked out and into the hall, ending that line of conversation, Theo following along. He had a study period next, maybe he should check out a book on Magickal Alignments and Forms of Magick for Granger. A head of him on the stairs Potter tripped spectacularly, the frantic flailing windmill of his arms in a fruitless effort to maintain his balance coaxed involuntary laughter from even the stoic Blaise. The tall, dark Italian stood to Draco's left, a hand over his mouth, eyes politely averted, trying to hide his mirth. Honestly, how anyone could really believe Potter was an evil mastermind was beyond him.

A ginger blur pushed passed him, knocking Draco into Blaise and Theo into a Ravenclaw. The four of them glared at his back.

"Harry."

Potter stiffened. "Ron." He greeted, his voice dripping with a lack of enthusiasm.

The freckled idiot, unaware of his walk toward danger, stomped up the stairs.

"Just because you're upset with me doesn't mean you get to take it out on Hermione. She was only trying to help the other day. Making her look stupid in front of everyone because your sensitive spirit is offended isn't very Gryffindor. She grew up with muggles, you know she doesn't understand this alignment stuff, it was...vindictive...to do that."

"Big words."

Weasley shuffled his weight on his feet aggressively. "See? That. What the hell is that? Why are you acting like a stuck up pureblood?"

Potter didn't seem interested in talking to the Weasel. He turned and resumed his progress up the stairs. Weasley latched onto his shoulders and spun the smaller boy around.

"Quit walking away from me! Quit ignoring me I'm sick of your attitude."

Potter smiled. Fantastic.

The shorter Gryffindor tilted his head slowly, face pleasantly innocent.

"For someone who doesn't want to be treated like a dog you're certainly whining like a kicked puppy."

Weasley reeled back as if Potter had hit him. "You don't get to talk to me like that!"

Potter took a step forward. "Like what?"

"Like you're bloody Malfoy!"

"Do you want to know why you always lose those little insult battles you get into with Draco?" Potter smiled. Again.

His eyes flickered over to where Draco was standing.

"It's because everything he says is true. He talks about your financial status and social status and quotes things other people have said about you and your family. He doesn't make anything up just to piss you off, like you do to him, he just says the truth. He doesn't care enough about you to sit around making up witty insults for the next time he sees you."

Everyone in the hall was quiet, watching. No one made a move to separate them or stop Potter. They just watched, the way you see a horrible accident about to happen in potions and can't help but watch it play out.

"You're poor and low class and you've got an insane amount of siblings. That partnered with your father's low paying job makes it hard for your family to get by. All true. It isn't really anything to be ashamed of, but it's true. The things you say about him are not, and that is why it rolls off of his back. If you didn't hate yourself and your life as much as you do these things wouldn't bother you as much as they do, but you can't stand your life and you're unhappy with yourself. You're petty, you're jealous, you're insecure and you're even, at times, callous."

The red head let out a small growl. "If you think so little of me maybe we shouldn't be friends."

"We aren't." Said Potter, in a soft unhappy voice.

"...What?"

"We aren't friends. I can't call you a friend when you aren't acting like one. I don't have to be the soundboard for your problems or the punching bag for your emotions or the doormat for your ego. That's not my job. And you don't get to make a joke of my emotions or my problems. Maybe you can't understand them, you know? You certainly can't relate. I understand that. But my fears and my insecurities and shadows and my skeletons are worthy. You don't get to make light of them or belittle them or gloss them over just because you're more interested in your own or because you're feeling especially hateful of yourself that day and need an outlet to make you feel better about yourself. Friends don't do that. I don't deserve it and I'm not going to tolerate it." He licked his lips and took a step backward. "You don't get to use me. You don't get to demand my forgiveness. I'm angry with you, I'm allowed to be angry with you and all I want is to have some time  
away from you. Additionally, just so everyone understands," he raised his voice, "the incident in Defense had nothing to do with you your majesty."

Snickers.

"I was asked a question and I answered it. Hermione didn't have to challenge it. She did and I answered again. The issue I have with her is unrelated to the issue I have with you, so stay the hell out of it." With a twirl of his robes Potter stepped around Weasley and left.

That night when Potter approached their table in the library Draco gave him a round of applause.

"Veritaserum it is."


	8. It's Easier to Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron is hurt, Harry is hurt, and nobody wins.

Harry took a deep breath, pushed open the portrait and walked into the common room. He decided to act like he wasn't aware everyone was staring at him. It wasn't anything new, the staring. People were always staring. It was like being well known gave them a license to blatantly stare at you and eavesdrop on your conversations and demand to know why you've done what you've and where you've been. Being famous gave the world a false sense of ownership and it was one of the things Harry hated most about wizards and their world of magic. Of course the actual magic part of it did make it somewhat bearable. Knowing you could curse the hell out of any of the bastards making your life so suck-tastic was a great way to start the morning each day. Just add in orange juice and you're all set for the day.

"Harry." He tried very hard not to scream aloud and just start ripping out his hair. He didn't think that would help with the current rumours going about. Apparently evil people were mentally unstable and shrieking while clawing at yourself didn't exactly shout 'perfectly sane, nothing to see here'.

"What do you want Ron?"

The red head stopped before Harry, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Harry might have gone overboard with the emphasis of just how much he did not care what Ron wanted.

"Do you think you can forgive me...for...earlier...?"

"You mean publicly shouting at and accusing me in the entrance hall in front of literally everyone?"

"Yes, er, that."

"Sure." He gave a bright smile.

Ron wrinkled his brow. "You don't sound like you mean it." No shit.

"When you are punished for your honesty you learn to lie."

"Would you quit it with that already?"

Harry pulled the loop of his bag from his shoulder and set it on the ground. This was obviously going to be another one of those conversations. Getting Ron to accept a truth he didn't like was like replaying a scratched record again and again and trying to convince it to just skip that one spot and finish the merlin be damned song. Harry was getting tired of this melody, he was tried of fighting with Ron, he was tired of telling him why he was angry. Sometimes you just have to let things go. Not say goodbye, saying goodbye always implies there can be a hello at some point later on. He just wanted to let it go and leave it behind and carry on. If Ron couldn't understand what he'd done wrong, if he wasn't just being prideful and unwilling to admit he was wrong but was truly stumped as to why Harry was upset...then how much of a friend was he to begin with? And didn't that just feel like a punch to the gut?

"Would you ask a question that makes sense?" Harry knew he pressing Ron buttons, but he was damn over letting Ron press his and doing nothing about it in return.

"Would you stop talking like a pureblood?"

"I don't understand. Why does it matter?" He cocked his head.

Ron spluttered. "Because, this, this isn't you."

He was right. Harry usually did whatever Ron wanted and never got offended and smiled and nodded and never seemed to mind. It was his fault really, for letting it go on so long. Ron was used to it being okay. But everyone had a bold line that other people knew not to cross and friends didn't dance across them deliberately and then demand your forgiveness. You can't forgive someone for something they weren't sorry for. That isn't how the system works. Ron wasn't sorry for what he did, he wasn't sorry for what he said, he wasn't sorry for bringing up something Harry would rather have left alone or for being insensitive or making light of a very bad situation. Ron was sorry he didn't have someone to talk Quidditch with when Hermione tried to make him finish his Herbology assignment, He was sorry he wasn't Harry Potter's best friend anymore. And that hurt.

"How would you know? After all I'm so busy being locked in my room it's a wonder you ever get mail from me at all." Somewhere to the right of him he heard Hermione gasp.

The taller boy growled in frustration. "Well I didn't did I? And you never tell me anything even when you're here."

"What was it you said? It isn't like I had anything better to do, so why couldn't I take the time?"

Ron paled, suddenly aware of their audience. "This isn't the place-"

"For what? Loudly talking about things that aren't anyone else's business? Yes I agree. Such matters should be spoken of in private."

"I said I was sorry!" Shouted Ron.

Harry shook his head. "No, you asked if I could forgive you. An apology was never given."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Harry countered. "Why are you sorry Ron?"

Ron ran his fingers through his hair savagely. "For...making you angry."

He felt his heart sink. "But not for what you did. Right?"

"What?"

"You're sorry that I'm angry with you," said Harry, slowly, "but not sorry about what you did. This is why I won't forgive you. You don't deserve to be forgiven. You don't mean it."

"Stop being so stubborn." Ron shoved him. Hard. His back met the closed door of the portrait. "I'm trying to help you, can't you see that?"

"How, by manhandling me?" He rubbed his shoulder irritably.

"You've heard the things people are saying about you Harry and hanging around with Malfoy isn't helping you."

Harry rolled his eyes, scooped up his bag and moved to go around Ron. Malfoy wasn't the issue, he was just another excuse for Ron to justify his actions. He wasn't trying to help him. Harry and Malfoy weren't even friends, apart from note driven dares their interactions were contained within the library and the classroom. Dueling in the halls not counting as conversation. It was a complex relationship and he wasn't awake enough to try to explain it. "I'm going to bed."

Ron grabbed him by the shoulder roughly.

"I'm not going to let them use you and hurt you for their own selfish reasons."

"No, you're perfectly capable of doing that on your own."

"Can't we...can't we pretend all of this never happened?" Asked Ron, in a strangled voice. It sort of felt like the world came crashing down on him, Harry reflected, to reveal a hidden world behind it. Harry wasn't sure he liked this new world. Things were so much easier when he pretended everything was fine.

"Yes, and we could pretend we're mermish princesses. That doesn't make it true."

"Stop making jokes!"

Harry smiled bitterly. "I apologize. I use my rapier wit to hide my inner pain, it's a defense mechanism. I'm actually crying on the inside." And he was.

"Why can't we go back to the way things were? I want my best friend back, I want all of this to go away, I want you to stop being angry with me and hanging out with Malfoy and reading books instead of playing Snap with me."

"Life doesn't work that way. And if you really want to wake this particular sleeping dog, then the truth is that if you'd just learn to love yourself your life wouldn't bite so much to begin with. And then maybe you wouldn't suck as a friend. These hurts? These grievances? You bring them on yourself. Those whispering words in your ear telling you you'll never be good enough? Those are your words Ron. You've hurt yourself and now you're determined to make the world hurt with you. Well I won't allow it. You don't get to bring me down there with you in your misery and vanity and jealousy. I have misery of my own that needs tending."

Ron exploded, causing several second years to jump. "Why not? Why can't you back to pretending you don't see these flaws? Why can't you just be happy and smile and be my friend again?"

"I don't know how else to get this across to you, Ron, so I am going to be very blunt. Okay? Acting happy is easy, being happy is not. Calling someone a friend is easy, being a friend is not. I'm not smiling because I'm not happy. I'm not treating you like a friend because you're not being one."

"You've changed."

He took in a deep breath, held it and let it out very slow. "No. The only difference between me today and me then is that I'm not pretending anymore."

"How can you hate me so easily?" Ron swallowed, looking very broken.

He walked around him, and headed up the stairs.

"I don't hate you Ron. It is not hate, it is only hurt that I feel. And after this I shall go to bed, I'll lick my wounds, which only bled because I gave a damn about you, and I'll seem to be over it by tomorrow. I've let it go, you see. I've cut the string that once attached you to me. You're free."

Harry slammed the door to the dorm behind him. The common room was still.


	9. Loud-Mouth Cafeteria Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isolation, Humiliation and Realization.

The other students parted automatically when Draco made his way through the common room. They didn't even have to look anymore, it was an additional survival instinct they'd learned in the four years since he arrived, bodies shifting without thought, moving to the left or the right, bags were picked up and moved and chairs pushed aside clearing the path Draco had chosen. Conversations continued, none daring to engage him, none daring to bring attention to themselves. He felt a body take up rank to his left and another to his right, keeping pace with him quietly. Two smaller ones stood behind him and two large bulky ones made up the rear. The wall moved aside and they walked, slowly and with purpose through the halls, chin parallel to the ground.

They weren't his friends, at best they were his closest associates, and the two he favored most, Blaise and Theo, even they stayed a good two feet away from him as they walked. Because Draco Malfoy wasn't a person. He was a symbol of the elite, the picture of the perfect pureblood heir, the future Lord of a noble house and their soul purpose in associating with him was to cultivate a non-violent working relationship to benefit them when they were older. These were children who wanted the added reputation by being seen with him, or by being remembered as his 'friend' in school. They wanted to have the connection to get spots in the Ministry or use his connections to garner them favours and potential allies. So Draco was all of those things. It was his job. He was to remember names and weaknesses and be The Malfoy Heir at all times, and Draco did and he was and he would continue to be. It came easy to him now, he'd been trained for this his entire life.

He couldn't complain about it, he knew he was lucky to have the money and name and connections and talents that he possessed, he was even smug about it. There were times when it was tiring, being a symbol rather than a person. There weren't many other people who could understand and those who could weren't usually people he was allowed to associate with, not even for the brief moment of shared understanding. It was his job to know everything about everyone and yet none of these people around him knew much of anything about him. The entire school thought he was unfeeling and mean and a snob. He certainly seemed that way, so why should they wonder?

It was utterly useless to think on it, there was nothing for it after all. This was his lot and he had too much class to whine. So he gathered these thoughts and feelings and locked them in to a box that he shoved in to a corner of his mind. He strengthened his walls and cleared his mask and he walked to the doors of the great hall- and stopped. And stared.

There was Potter, in his pajamas of all things, and they were horrid. Too large and faded and he looked ridiculous. The small Gryffindor stood on side of his house table, across from the group he normally sat with. The entire tables was filled, where there wasn't a person sitting there were book-bags or piles of books or conveniently placed feet. No one moved.

Potter wasn't looking at them though, he was staring directly at Longbottom, Finnegan, Thomas, Granger and Weasley.

"Very funny. Locking me in the dorm. Can I sit and eat please? I'll leave when I'm done."

"I think it's obvious if you're wanted here or not." That was the Weasel.

Granger's cheeks reddened, Draco could see it from here, she turned to Potter apologetically. "He's not being serious."

"Are you being serious?" Lavender Brown simpered, arm attached to the ginger.

"Actually, I was being serious." He leaned over the table, staring up at Potter. "You're not wanted here."

Potter's face looked like it was on fire. The other houses were staring. One of the Patil twins, who'd taken to sitting with her sister at the Gryffindor table during meals, looked embarrassed but she didn't say anything, her sister looked like she wanted to crawl underneath the table for Potter and hide. That's what the boy certainly looked like he wanted to do. The rest of them were staring at their plates or their hands or the ceiling. Someone snickered. Then another. The picture of humiliation for one entire moment, a mask slipped into place for Potter. The boy turned and left out of the hall, very quickly. Granger stood and chased after him.

The Gryffindor table burst into laughter.

Draco stood there watching, far more surprised than his impassive face would ever hint at. He nodded at Theo who nodded back and led the rest of the group to the table. He knew, rationally, that it wasn't his place. He wasn't friends with Potter, they hardly went a day without fighting, with magic or otherwise. They had their conversations, secret ones, but they never brought them up after they happened. Regardless his feet turned and he was following after the to lions. Eventually he heard voices down a narrow hall. There in the middle he could see Granger,m just barely in the shadows, talking into a small cut-out supply closet. No doubt Potter had taken refuge there to try and be alone. Granger didn't seem to care what Potter wanted, if what she was saying was anything to go by.

"You brought this on yourself you know. You painted a big red target on your back, you really have no right to be so surprised they shot an arrow at it. You know what you need to do don't you? I know they shouldn't have done that and Ron really shouldn't have said...what he said." she winced. "If you want to fix this you're just going to have to suck up this bit of rebellion, whatever the cause of it, and go make amends. Laughs at their jokes. Insult Malfoy. Defend Ron. Agree with them. You're going through something right now, I suppose, but the rest of the world doesn't care to wait around for you to have an attitude adjustment and people like Ron don't have the patience. He will never admit to being wrong Harry, certainly not like this. You're not making it easy for him. So...so just suck it up. This is your life. You need to smile and get with the program."

Draco leaned to the side, Potter say with his arms wrapped around his legs, chin on his knees, eyes on the floor. "Be careful friend. I don't know if I'm prepared to forgive myself if I have to hurt you back."

"Hurt me back? How am I hurting you?"

"You're killing me with a smile and good intentions," green orbs looked up at her through inky bangs, "did you know?"

Granger was taken aback. "What?"

"You tell me it's for my own good. You think you know me better than I know myself and you think being my friend gives you the right to make my choices for me and to know my secrets and tell me what to do. You're forcing me to be someone I'm not and to hide the person I am on the inside. It's a subtle sort of murder but it's killing me all the same."

The brown haired girl looked distraught now. Guilt didn't sit well with her, Draco thought.

"Don't think about it too much if you can't stomach it. Everyone else is killing me too."

She didn't know what else to say to that, because she asked a question instead of countering Potter's claim.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Granger's voice rough and low.

"Because, said Potter, "sometimes we have to dare to be ourselves, no matter how frightening or strange that self may prove to be. Both in my case."

"I hope it's worth it." She probably meant it.

Granger turned and walked down the hall. Draco stepped back and let her pass, letting out a breath when his presence went un-noticed.

"Malfoy?" Or not.

Draco took a step forward into the limited light of the only candle along this hallway. Potter sat just as he had before, to the right of the small supply cupboard, on the floor. His pajamas were probably getting really dirty now. Not that it made much of a difference with clothes like that.

Potter looked up at him. "It's strange I guess. They're my friends. But everything I'd like to talk about I can't say to them. I feel so separate, like I've touched something that's taken all the colours out of these things I used to belong to. I can't even pretend to see them anymore."

Draco took that as an invitation and stepped forward into the storage cupboard. It was very small, it was good Potter was as well. Draco could barely stand upright in it. "How do you feel about that?" He asked, feeling like a mind healer. He was a bit out of his depth here. Malfoy training didn't include consoling rivals.

"I'm wondering if it's best if you don't have anyone you care about. Then there isn't anyone to hurt you, is there? You don't have to be afraid of losing someone if you haven't anyone to lose."

Draco slid down the wall across from him, knees bent in the small space. "Yes. But then you have nothing."

"That's what I had to being with. It's comfortable. I don't know that I mind going back."

"You do mind. If you didn't you would have done it the first time you had the opportunity. You would have certainly done it second year. But you didn't, you chose to keep caring. There must have been some reason. You must have thought it was worth it." Draco tried. He was a little alarmed.

"It isn't that I thought it was worth it, it's that I wasn't willing to go back to nothing. This pain was something, even if it was pain, and anything was better than nothing. But now...now I miss nothing. I don't want to hurt anymore."

"Nothing is over-rated. It keeps your head clear and it keeps people at a distance but you'll never be happy. You can't be happy when you have nothing. Awards and galleons and large houses with empty rooms can never fill the spaces inside of us that ache against our will. Some of us choose this path. You don't have to be one of them."

He shifted, looking away from Draco. "You seem fine with it."

Draco stared. "What."

"You're enveloped in ice Draco. Even if someone wanted in, they'd have to dig through layers of solid ice. It's been there so long I wonder if you've ever known a day without it. The walls of ice." Hesitant eyes met his face.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

He put a small tan hand on Draco's arm, looking away again. "Yes I do. I can see it. You've been this way since the day I met you."

Draco forced a laugh. "You sound so reasonable for someone who's just been thrown out of their house and ridiculed in front of the school. Why don't you get angry? You should hit a wall or something."

"I did."

He swallowed. "Ah, my walls of ice you mean."

Potter nodded.

And then Draco felt the start of a very tiny crack in his mask.


End file.
